Places I've Been

Andalucia, Sevilla: Living and Breathing Flamenco

As a professional dancer, I've always been very particular about being an audience. Watching a dance show or a dancer, to me, was the ultimate high, but the experience had to be authentic. I'd watch a Mexican do the Salsa; a Cuban, the Mambo; a Filipina, the Tinkiling; and even more specifically, a Sevillana, the Flamenco. The reason for this is because I believe that only a native of the dance can truly express what a particular dance is all about. Most dances reflect a culture, a mood, and a passion that can never fully be encapsulated unless performed by someone that has lived and breathed the history, the pains, and the joys of that culture.

There was a point in my life that I had been fascinated by Flamenco. I watched a traditional Flamenco bar show on television with the guitarists surrounding the small arena at the center of the bar where the Flamenco dancer performed to a small audience. I was in a thrall. It was then that I called up a friend of mine that lived in Spain to ask her about where in Spain I had to go to see "live" what I'd just seen on Discovery Channel. She told me Andalucia, Sevilla was the birthplace of Flamenco.

In less than a month I was on a flight to Spain; and let me just tell you, that the beauty of what I had witnessed could never be simply described. It's raw passion with a capital P. The sensation of getting caught up in the heat of the moment inside a crowded room, Spanish guitars reverberating throughout, the sheer drama in their demeanor, the flamboyance of their costumes, the fire, the RED, the sound, the eyes, and the authenticity of their artistic expression..I can't capture its essence in writing - even the greatest poets couldn't put down in words what happens when you are right at the heart of it. True to form, a dance and its story is best told in a dance.

While I was there I asked some of the dancers I'd met to teach me a few of the basics. I must say, that I asked them with the confidence of a person with more than twenty years of serious dance training backing her up, but I was soon humbled by the humiliating fact that Flamenco has a very distinct technique that my own ballet-jazz-modern-latin dance techniques proved useless. Just the same, I took pains to learn what I could from the true natives of this dance. I was sorely disappointed in myself, but it was certainly an experience for keeps. I ended my trip to Spain and took home with me a lifetime's worth of memories.

Almost ten years later, no matter how I've tried to recapture the spirit of Sevilla in my choreographies and dances, I just could not. I always tell my friends that if they really want to understand Flamenco, and if they have the time and the means to go to Spain and see what I've seen, they should. There's nothing like it anywhere else in the world. You can take my word for it, I know.

The Boracay Chronicles:

Bad News First is Always Better...

On my last tricycle ride down Main Road, as I was leaving Boracay, my home for almost a year now, I sat there thinking that this is right. Leaving behind all of this is the right thing to do. I passed the familiar places: my friendly neighborhood botica, my favorite grocery store, goodah, d'mall; and I'm still trying to figure out for myself why I felt no pain from leaving all of this behind. None. Nada. Perhaps the superficiality of friendships founded on those shallow waters, upon soft sands, between take-offs and landings, across manila-kalibo/caticlan-manila runways, on perfunctory alco-high conversations at bars, the transitory nature of people on the island always coming and going made for a very lonely life on this island. I guess, I was looking for a place to nurture me, for soulful conversationalists, lasting friendships, realness, insight, solidity, but boracay is not that sort of place. Of course some people were nice to have around as friends, maybe - I did not stick around long enough to test them but generally, most of the people were only good for small talking and nothing more - "How empty to live here...", I thought. To be a tourist is different. I used to spend new years and summers in boracay before, but I always knew that I'd be going back to my life after, and a few days of superficialities was bearable coz I wasn't gonna have to take that home with me - I didn't have to wake-up to it everyday, unlike when I lived there. So in many, many ways, I am glad to have left that place. If tomorrow I find myself with my tail between my legs back on the island, ah well...c'est la vie, oui? But I really doubt it.

That place is for people that don't want to get too close to other people, to put it simply. The people that can stand living on the island are happy to stay away from anything lasting. Many I know are looking for cheap thrills, an easy lay, stupid fun, to heal old wounds, to run away from their problems, to sweep things under the rug. It is not about facing your demons there, like I used to believe. It's more about quelling the dragons of the day and pretending all in your life is ok. Then you go to bed with someone or one too many beers, wake-up feeling the emptiness creep-in, and you head-out to once again, quell those dragons, burn some "boramphetamines" - anything to mask your pain, anything to get by for the day. Boracay is a good distraction. A mirage. A fantasy island. A phantom land. How can you grow your roots on sands as easily blown away as powder? I woke-up from this dream, finally. Now I'm looking for more solid land. Not in this concrete jungle, no. But somewhere else. I can't say where yet, but somewhere. I suspect, it may be time to slip in my gypsy bangles, bring out the maps, follow the north star, and venture off to wherever the winds may take me.

More Bad News...

Coincidences can sometimes be full of mischief. You end-up at some place somewhere you thought at some point could or would bring you some semblance of stability but something unexpected arrives and suddenly the ground you have come to rely on is shaky. It's not like Life throwing you a hard blow. More like J.K. Rowling proclaiming that Dumbledore is gay after you have read Books i-vii with innocent notions of Dumbledore being the grandfather you always wished you had...but never was the old wise man's sexuality a necessary topic in relation to the story. Right? Of course, J.K. Rowling's announcement is not a concidence in itself but it is indeed mischievous. What is a coincidence though is my sharing the same birth date with Harry Potter - but that too is an unecessary topic right now.

Let me put it this way, a mischievous coincidence would be Koreans living in and traveling to Boracay. I heard the first Korean to ever discover Boracay was told that D'Mall was convenient for walking in high-heeled shoes, unlike Panglao Island in Bohol. Coincidentally, her Filipina friend had bought her as "pasalubong" a Boracay souvenir t-shirt and she thought that it'd be so cute if she got one for her boyfriend to match hers. The rest is history.

Another mischievous coincidence is Boracay's commercialization. Some wise dude accidentally discovered the island while flying over it some time back in the 70's; a decade later until today, its facade is perennially under construction and the paved walkways of D'Mall continuously bringing about the influx of high-heeled Koreans sporting matching tees and shorts with their respective partners on the island, ineffect, has turned-off a large number of European, American, and even Filipino tourists that used to constitute about 80% of the island's tourists. Now Boracay's "stability" seems to rely on its fast-growing commercialization and its foreign (mostly Korean) investors even if it means sacrificing its residents' quality of life with its turbo-powered sewerage system digesting more than it can accommodate, its power fluctuations and shortages, and its unusually high rate of food poisoning caused by these regular and sporadic brownouts and blackouts, there is also the increase in Boracay's crime rate, and very visibly, prostitution; the list goes on.

Coincidentally, a friend just gave me a pair of Coach high-heeled sandals. God forbid I strut down D'Mall in them! Instead I took a leisurely stroll along the shoreline with each step sinking myself deeper and deeper into the sand, the salt water corroding the wooden heels, staining the leather and cloth of the shoes. I tell myself, inspite of this shaky ground I now stand on, these shoes, after they're wornout, I will one day soon mount on D'Wall at D'Mall as a symbol of Boracay's decay; and hope, coincidentally, that someone gets the message. Needless to say, in my occasional prejudiced perspective of things (this instance Koreans in Boracay), I have made my point. Where in many cases, I am aware that my opinions have been taken quite harshly by some, poke me in the eye with a high-heeled shoe, I will remain rooted to the ground, barefoot and firm-footed in my verdict: Mischief, coincidental or not, has gone too far this time.

Now The Good Part

No matter how living on the island has allowed me to see beyond its picture perfect surfaces, Boracay, simply, is beautiful. Period. There are no ifs or buts. It is what it is. Beautiful.

I'm thinking Boracay again. It's been more than a year since I've left it I'm starting to miss its cool waters and, cliche as it is, but not entirely overrated sunsets. I enjoyed the sunsets most while sitting on the wing of a hobiecat cruising, the gentle winds on my face, with a bottle of wine to share with friends, and Miles Davis playing over my ipod - it's almost better than chocolate that is better than sex!

Soon, I shall prep myself for a trip to Boracay and visit old places that at one point in my life had become too familiar. Now, I'm starting to miss them. My favorites were: Real Coffee, love their healthy menu of breakfasts, and of course, Lee, the Italian-American coffeeshop owner who was always such a charming hostess with her warm smile and interesting anecdotes; then there's Jonah's (fruit shakes), Station 1, the melon and banana shake was one of my favorites for a thirst-quencher, and the chocolate banana shake was simply yummy; that quaint hideaway in Diniwid called Spiderhouse was THE MOST romantic spot on the island, and the curry is unforgettable - nice for quiet time alone or with someone special ;); on the far side of the island, boat station 3, La Luna Rosa, had Oh-My-God-I-Just-Died-And-Went-To-Heaven Fettuccini with White Truffle Oil and Cream Pasta; and the pizzas at Paraiso Bar & Restaurant right beside Gastoph was...Mwah! Bellissimo!, was also addicted to their banana and mango topped with chocolate syrup and rum crepe; my favorite afternoon delight when noone was around was Smoke inside D'Mall where I'd have lots of coffee (nothing special), and great music - had an Old Malate ambience which made me quite at home in it; the mountain I loved climbing, a good 45 minute trek uphill with the reward of a grand view of the island, is something I will not fail to return to whenever I'm there; also miss the obscure cove in Baling Hai where my friends and I would lounge around in whenever we wanted to escape the noise of White Beach; naturally, I would never ever forget my favorite secret hideaway that I used to go to at daybreak just to sit quietly with a good book and their fresh Barako coffee; it had throw pillows on the floor, a low table, a very cozy private corner above the restaurant facing a garden - this was my Bora sanctuary.

There are so many other lovely popular and unpopular spots in Boracay that I'd love to revisit but what I've mentioned are on the top of my list. I suppose going back to an island that not too far back had left a bittersweet aftertaste in my mouth is apt at this point. No, but I think Time has done its job here and I am ready to give it a second chance to help me begin loving it all over again. Boracay, baby, here I come!